


Watch If You Want

by Catchclaw



Series: Anteros, Eros, and Aphrodite [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Multi, Season/Series 06, Soulless Sam Winchester, Threesome - M/M/M, Wincestiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-10
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Cas nor Sam alone can save Dean from the bitchy magic of an Anteros. But together, perhaps, they can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watch If You Want

Dean took two steps and staggered, and it took all of my strength to keep us both upright.

I could feel his heart pounding against me, a drum beneath my hand.

The creature had fled, we were alone, and my only thought as to a solution had failed.

“Cas,” Dean whispered. Squeezed my arm. Knocked his head against my shoulder. Trembling.

There was nothing else I could think to do.

I felt helpless.

I was desperate.

So. I took him to Sam.

The rain, the bricks, the alley: they disappeared, and suddenly there was light and heat and four walls.

I heard Sam curse somewhere behind us, startled. I turned, tugging Dean with me.

“Cas! What the hell?” Sam barked, coming for us, and for a moment, I heard his old self in his voice. Heard concern for someone else, for someone other than himself. But when our eyes met, his were still dark and deadened. Still missing something.

He reached for Dean, took him out of my arms. Dean wobbled, his face fading in and out, his voice hazy and smokey and lost. Sam gripped his elbows—handled him as if he were a child—and guided him to the bed. Made him sit, made him lie back. I watched his head roll along the pillows, his face bright and red between them.

Sam looked back at me, face narrow. “What happened?” he repeated. A warning. A question whose answer had to please him, it seemed.

I blinked. Waited, for a moment. I do not like to be questioned. I wanted him to know this.

He stared back at me. Impassive. Waiting.

“Anteros,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows.

Dean shuddered, his mouth moving, a strange noise caught in his throat. His face contorted in pain.

“Anteros,” I said again, pulling my eyes up and away. “A minion of a minor goddess, one you might call Aphrodite.”

Sam blinked.

I shook my head, seeing a flash of gold, the wave of butterfly wings, again. Saw the creature’s club crash into Dean’s head, its wings flicking in the streetlight, long tangled hair hiding its face.

Heard its voice, like the sound of stars colliding.

“Oh, little angel,” it said, and it was beautiful, like a perfect image of man carved from living rock. “Are you worried about your pet?”

I cradled Dean’s head and glared up at the thing, trying not to be dazzled by it.

“What have you done?” I growled.

The thing—the Anteros—sighed. Whipped its wings my way and shook its head.

“Angel,” it said. “The more interesting question is: what have you?”

“Suffice it to say,” I said, shoving the images away, seeing Sam again,”we crossed its path while it was acting in the service of its master. We attempted to—deter it. And it attacked Dean.”

Sam looked pointedly down at his brother who, admittedly, for all of his physical contortions, his pitiful moans, appeared to be uninjured.

“We must have different definitions of ‘attacked,’ Cas. I don’t see any—”

I sighed. Humans can be so tiresome with their endless need for explanations, justifications, details.

“The wounds that an Anteros strikes are not physical. They are-emotional.”

Sam frowned, opened his mouth, and I realized that was very tired of listening to his voice.

“Sam. Dean is in pain. The Anteros—it marked him with something it called ‘counter-love,’ a sense of an affection that is not returned. That is—unrequited.”

In my mind, I saw the Anteros’ mouth curling as it had said this, as it had watched me cradle Dean’s body against my own.

“He will be in pain, will continue to be hurt, until he—”

I did not want to say it. I made myself say it.

“Until he has some physical contact with the one he loves. With the one whom he is sure does not love him back. Until he feels reassured.”

Sam’s eyes widened, heavy and cold, and finally he understood.

“And you brought him here because—?”

“Because,” I gritted. Annoyed that he would make me state what he had already deduced. “For him, that person is you.”

Sam tilted his head. Smiled. The slash of a knife.

“It’s not you, then?”

He let me hear the pleasure he took in saying this. In asking this, of me. In hurting me.

For a moment, I felt Dean’s mouth beneath mine, the rain in my face, the sound of the Anteros’ laughter ringing in my ears. I felt his lips moving, but not with me, his hands reaching—but not for anything that I could give.

Felt his voice, quiet and cool against my face.

Heard him say: “Sam.”

The disappointment like a bolt in my chest, when I realized what it meant.

But I showed Sam none of this. Instead, I narrowed my eyes at him, put the force of heaven into my stare. 

But he only laughed. Ice.

He sat on the edge of the bed next to Dean, who was still spinning, still moaning, still wandering in his own world of pain and confusion and fear.

Sam turned his head, caught my eye. Waited for me to flinch.

I stared back. Impassive. Waiting.

His lips curved again.

“Watch if you want,” he said. Mocking me. A challenge.

So I crossed my arms. Took a step back. And I stayed.

He shrugged. Dismissed me. Pulled Dean’s head up, leaned his own down, and pushed their mouths together.

It was a knife in the heart for me, that kiss.

I had been sure, so sure, that I was the one, for Dean.

That I was the one who could cure him, could save him from his pain, one more time. Again.

I did not know if I loved him. I did not know that I loved anyone, other than my Father. Once. And I knew that was not the kind of love of which the Anteros had spoken.

Still. I had been certain that I could save him, with a kiss. That I could be his Savior, at least.

But now, I saw the desperation in Dean’s fingers. The need in the lines of his neck, in the moans that shook his throat as he sat up, wound his arms around Sam’s body.

And none of that was there, when I kissed him.

Still. His body shook. He trembled. The tension in his face, his body remained.

Sam held him, let Dean batter himself against the shore of his face. Then he pushed Dean back, gently, into the pillows, back into the bed. Leaned over him, covered him. Consumed him.

It was as though I had disappeared, then.

To them, I was invisible. And it stung.

Part of me wanted to flee. To get as far from him, from them, as I could. But something—

Something else made me stay.

And the knife plunged in and out of my chest as I watched the two of them work together. Heard their breaths intertwine, watched their bodies flow one into the other.

I felt empty.

Sam shifted, and I could see Dean’s face, suddenly: beautiful and broken and hot, his breath coming in shudders over his lips, eyes afraid to open, his mouth stretched wide and anxious as Sam dug into his neck, pulled his mouth around Dean’s ear and down.

And I knew that look was not for me. Was not meant for me to see, even.

But I was numb, my body stupid and I felt absent from myself. I heard myself groan, felt my body wavering, shifting, quaking.

It was a terrible feeling. One of which I wished to be free.

And so I did something unwise.

I let myself fall forward, pushed my body in one long shove across the bed and kissed him, shoved my mouth deep into his and stop breathing, for a moment.

Dean’s whole body leapt up to meet my tongue, and it took both of us, Sam and I, to keep him down, to keep him in place, planting him, fixing him with our lips, our teeth, our hands. He made a desperate sound deep in his chest and we both pushed back, made him stay, our shoulders brushing as we kissed him, not looking, not talking, our attention only on him.

I fell beside him, pressed my face against his. He yanked my tongue through his teeth and turned towards me, Sam dragging behind, his mouth still latched onto Dean’s neck. But I worked him, won him, for the moment; took all of Dean’s head into my hands and pushed Sam away.

I heard him hiss in frustration, but I did not care. I had Dean sighing between my fingers, his mouth slack and sweet in mine, and I did not give a damn about Sam, right then.

Dean tugged at my coat, my shirt, my tie, dark little noises in his mouth that tumbled into mine. I sat up, pulled away, and started fumbling to get them off, to get all of it away from my skin. Dean’s fingers were insistent, interfering, and I struggled, trying please him and fight him off all at once. Then his hands flew away and I looked up, confused. Saw that Sam was holding his arms back, watching me with hooded eyes and shushing Dean, nuzzling his ear and cooing.

And seeing him, like that, fighting his brother, struggling to get back to me, his face wavering as Sam kissed his ear, bit his neck—

Something in me gave that should not have. Something in me cracked that should have stayed whole.

I threw myself off of the bed, dropped my clothing in a pile on the floor, kicked the cloth away. I dropped back beside him and kissed him, pushed my body into his, suddenly desperate to have him touch me. Sam must have released him, because he rolled into my arms, his hands falling all over my flesh, my name pouring out of his mouth, heavy and sweet and jumbled. With Sam’s.

So. It seemed that he needed us both, I realized, from somewhere in me that could still reason. Could still think in the midst of all of that.

He loved both of us. Needed both of us to bless him, accept him. Reassure him that he, too, was loved.

The bed shifted and my eyes opened against my will. I saw Sam in a flash, lit up like a lightning bolt. Watching Dean. Watching us as he tossed his clothes away, as his skin broke out into the light.

They closed again, my eyes, and I grabbed Dean’s hand and pinned it to my side. I rocked myself against him and he groaned, so loud that it hid the sound of Sam returning, rolling in behind him. And his body shook as Sam touched him, as he wrapped himself around Dean from the other side.

So we trapped him, saved him, between us.

I traced Dean’s shoulder with my fingers as we kissed, as I pushed my cock into his hip, and realized, dimly, that he was still clothed. Strange.

His body careened between us: arching back to meet Sam’s mouth, turning and straining to match it with his own, then curving towards me as I slid my hands under his shirt. Brushed my knuckles down his sides and over his chest.

We lay like that, for a time: Dean moving between us, the two of us working in harmony but not together. Ignoring each other even as our hands touched. As we listened to the sounds of each other’s mouths on Dean’s body. To the music that he made for us both.

After a time, though, I grew impatient. Greedy. That strange sense of haziness, of a lack of equilibrium, returned, and I fought back.

I dropped my hand to Dean’s waist. Then below. Stroked him with the palm of my hand as he shoved his hips forward to meet me. His mouth slid from mine and he started panting our names into the air, a tangle of curses and love and Sam and Cas and fuck and please and Sam, fuck, please, Cas—

And we moved together, Sam and I, not looking, not speaking, passing messages through his body instead. We sat up, tugging him between us. I fell down, Sam pushed up, and together we undressed him, as rapidly as we could with him wiggling like an eel, groaning and sighing and trying to touch both of us at once.

Sam finished before I did, pulled Dean’s shirts off and away and leaned down to claim his prize, to devour Dean’s mouth. Dean started shaking, under that, and it made it harder for me to hold him still. But I got his boots off, tugged him open and pulled his jeans away, finally. Slid back up, knocked his knees apart, and pressed my face into his thigh.

Sam was holding him down, his weight pressed deep into Dean’s shoulders, but Dean’s hips sill leapt when I touched him, his cock curving towards me.

But I waited, for a moment.

Watched his fingers dig into Sam’s shoulder as they kissed, and my own skin felt the sting. Felt the absence of touch.

I wanted so much at that moment, the greed the need so tight in my throat that it choked me, slid up into my mouth and shot bitterness over my tongue.

And so I was not as gentle, in that moment, as I might have been. As I should have.

I heard myself hiss, pushed my head up and my hand over and I took him all into my mouth at once.

He cried out, dug deeper into Sam’s flesh and I saw a press of blood beneath his nails. 

Sam said something I could not hear and they both laughed, ragged and low. I closed my eyes shut my ears shut them out focused all that I had on his cock. On pleasing him.

I felt the bed shift, heard them moving above me, but I did not open my eyes this time. I kept my fingers in his hip, the others curled around his cock, and dragged my tongue over and around and down, sucked and pulled and groaned his name into his flesh.

His hips jerked again, violent, and I sat up, a little. Startled. He was lying back against Sam’s chest, their fingers locked, hands resting on Dean’s stomach. Sam had his head bent down to meet Dean’s ear, and whatever he was saying was making Dean moan and grip their fingers together, tighter. Suddenly he looked deep down into my eyes and all that jade cut right through me, made me shake, made me sick.

Made me want his hands on me, made me want to bury my cock in his mouth and empty myself into his throat.

Sam raised his head, just then; our eyes met and we agreed, somehow, without speaking. I started sucking Dean hard, taking him as fast as I could over my tongue, between my teeth. I could feel Sam move, and when I opened my eye, he had twisted his body, freed his hands, and was turning Dean’s face in his fingers, kissing him sloppy and quick and deep.

Under that, under our assault, Dean flew right to the edge. We could both feel it. His whole body got still and still, and then he yanked his mouth away from Sam’s. Called our names, together, working his hips up into my mouth, fucking me as best he could, Sam growling encouragement into his face, stroking his stomach: telling him yes and Dean and come for me, Dean. Come for Cas. Come for me.

Dean shivered.

And he let go of everything inside my mouth. All of it, in a moment. Gone.

His head fell back, slammed into Sam’s shoulder, and he screamed something beautiful and incoherent and mad. Pure pleasure that was ours. That was a gift to us both.

I opened my eyes and that terrible tension in his face, in his body, was gone. He was free from the wounds of Anteros.

And, after that.

My vessel shrieked. It overruled any sense that I had left and demanded, begged, ordered me to come.

And I followed its commands.

I tried to sit up and suddenly we were tangled together like leaves, like branches in a tree tied together too tightly. I tumbled over Dean, his arms and Sam’s reaching for me, holding me close. Fingers closed around my cock and I did not know whose they were, nor did I care, not at all, just threw myself forward, took the first mouth I could find and let it consume me, our tongues working in time with the fingers on my cock, with the bodies knocking into mine.

There was a rhythm, a pattern, an energy that pushed through me, forced its way through my teeth, into that other mouth, and I moaned “Sam—!”

—and came all over someone’s hand, my body a blue white flame, until only relief remained. I felt as though I had been wrung out, all the tension that had trapped me falling away, leaving only pleasure in its place.

For a moment, I was happy. For a moment, I thought that I was with him.

But then I opened my eyes and the jade I saw was cold, this time. It sliced through me as Dean let me go, pushed me away, and I saw Sam on the far side of the bed, eyes narrow and cool and—

Appraising.

I felt naked, under that stare. Stripped down below the flesh and exposed. I felt as though I were prey that had suddenly bolted to the middle of a meadow, then paused; lit up by a bolt of sun and visible, vulnerable.

In that moment, I realized that I could be seen.

In that moment, I knew. Dean had not been the only one touched by the Anteros.

Dean.

I remembered him, then, turned back, but he was already dressed. Glaring at me, all of his fury focused on my face.

I opened my mouth to speak—to say what, I do not know—and he stopped me. Cold.

“No,” he said, his voice bitter. Controlled. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I—”

He stomped his way into his boots. “I don’t. Want. To hear another fucking word from you.” He pointed at Sam. “Take a lead from the soulless douchebag over there, Castiel. Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He marched to the door and did not look back.

And he was gone.

We just sat there, for a moment. As strange as that may sound.

We had saved Dean. Together, we had relieved him of his pain. But—

What had I done to myself, exactly?

Here, I made another. Error in judgement.

For instead of leaving. Instead of getting up and getting dressed and disappearing, as I should have.

I looked up and met his eyes again.

We stared at each other.

He said nothing. But he smiled, that slash across his face from before.

Sam. Not Sam.

Something broken. Something missing.

Something that called to me, in him.

Something in him that I needed.

He grabbed my arms, yanked me up beside him, crushed me beneath the planes of his body.

He hurt me, as he rammed his mouth into mine. Sucked the blood from my lips and came back for more.

Hurt me, as he slammed my head back into the wall, cursing me and calling my name in the same breath.

Hurt me, as he bit my throat. Dug his nails into my flesh. Shoved his cock between my legs. Unrelenting.

I let all that was dark in him sing to me, degrade me, devour me.

And we both forgot about Dean, for awhile.


End file.
